Into the Mystic
by inthelatemaydecember
Summary: There is dying, dying in the arms of the one that you love, and then there is living a lie." Unrequited Voldemort/Bellatrix, mention of Lupin/Tonks. Missing scene for "Deathly Hallows".


**Disclaimer:** They're not mine. Lupin, Tonks, Bellatrix, and the whole crazy crew (yes, and Voldemort, too) belong to JK Rowling.

**Summary:** There is dying, dying in the arms of the one that you love, and then there is living a lie.

**Author's Note:** Out of character, for sure, but but I couldn't let go of the delicious thought that the only thing that would ever really defeat Bellatrix is a moment of clarity and truth.

_"Bellatrix's gloating smile froze, her eyes seemed to bulge: For the tiniest space of time she knew what had happened, and then she toppled, and the watching crowd roared, and Voldemort screamed." - _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

**Into the Mystic**

This should be her greatest moment of victory, but it isn't.

This should, Bellatrix thinks (standing in the shadows with her wand at the ready - oh how perfect the opportunity is!) feel like the final piece of the puzzle falling swiftly into place, like the feeling of coming home in honor after a long battle. This, the sum of her life's mission - to rip the weeds from her family tree, to leave it as pure and clean as the crisp midnight air - this is all she's ever wanted, isn't it?

And yet she doesn't move to strike in glee (isn't this how she's always imagined it?) the defenseless Auror kneeling practically at her feet.

Nymphadora Tonks - the offspring of her filthy, Muggle-loving sister - is draped over her fallen husband, her hair a curtain of mournful black like a widow's veil, or like a shade of dark curtains that shelter her as she places a final kiss on his lifeless lips.

It's all very _touching_, and she almost snickers in sheer disgust of it all, but the sound gets caught in her throat. She feels (momentarily, only) as if she's being suffocated, chocked by her own hatred. Spells and hexes bounce off the walls around her, echoing over and over and over again off the ancient stone, and she feels, distinctly, for the first time in a long time, genuine fear.

Would he hold her like that if the end came too soon? would he, at the loss of his truest servant, his most faithful warrior (she, who believed in vain that he cold return her love, even when it came in the form of pure, unrelenting pain) - would he ever cry out in anguish over her fallen body, heedless of the battle surrounding him, unconsolable in his grief and angst?

She struggles to envision it, to own it, but no such mental image comes.

It's a long while before she realizes that she hasn't taken a breath, and she inhales sharply, the small sound masked by a well timed sob from Tonks.

Did she recall feeling this way, even once, when her own husband was stricken in battle? Does she remember feeling anything but pity and disappointment that he hadn't been a worthy enough Death Eater to face the likes of mudbloods and half-breeds?

No. Another picture she cannot conjure.

Maybe this is all her kind is capable of producing. The thought has never before occurred to her - and it's a treacherous thought, to be sure - but maybe this knack, this keen ability for two people to _care_ about each other, beyond all pesonal pleasures, beyond greed (beyond even death, she imagines Dumbledore would say, and while she curses the name, she can't help feeling as if there are worse things then death for the human heart), is the one thing she can never truly possess.

She loves Voldemort, she is sure - she has never once denied it, and in fact her pride in it is ever apparent when he warms her with a simple act of rare affection - but however much of her sanity has withered away in her years of devotion, she cannot delude herself deep at her core that it would ever be possible for him to return those deep emotions.

He will not beg, and he will not cry. He will continue on without her.

"It's pathetic, really, Bellatrix." The voice is so broken and fading that at first she believes it is a product of her imagination, simply, and not the tearful voice of her niece on the floor. She's filled with sudden anger - jealousy, really, but she refuses to accept it as such - that the girl had all this time known she was here, and had regardless allowed herself to be so vulnerable. "It's pathetic that you and your lot will never have this, never understand this. That you truly believe that love is something that can be destroyed by magic."

This time, like all the rest, when she finally utters the killing curse, she means it (she wishes Tonks had put up some kind of a fight, instead of looking up at her with those dark, empty eyes, as if she were already dead - she imagines it would make her feel better).

She means the words, but not in the way she thought she would.

It shouldn't feel like this, but it does.

**Fin.**

_The title wasn't really based off of the fic, I just happened to be listening to the Swell Season cover of "Into the Mystic" on the Once soundtrack, and thought it would make a good title. I suppose in some ways the song could relate to Lupin and Tonks... or maybe "into the mystic" is just the idea that love is a strange and beautiful thing that is magical enough to exist even beyond life._

_Please feel free to give me as much feedback as possible... I'm currently plotting out a multi-chapter Lupin/Tonks fic for the challenge over at _**10themes**_ , but I haven't posted anything in so long that I thought actually _finishing_ something first might make for good practice._


End file.
